Christmas 1975
by Roofran411
Summary: 1975. Christmas at Hazlington Manor. Piers waits for his father. I have given this short story an M rating due to a couple of four letter words and little coarse language.


**CHRISTMAS 1975**

A short Christmas story from Hazlington.

._

.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. Sung by Judy Garland

.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your hearts be light,

Next year, all our troubles will be

Out of sight

.

Have your self a merry little Christmas

Make the Yule-tide gay

Next year all our troubles will be

Miles away,

.

Once again as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends that are dear to us

Will be near to us

Once more

.

Someday we all may be together,

If the Fates allow.

Until then, we will have to muddle through somehow

So have yourself a merry Little Christmas now.

.

._

 **Christmas 1975**

 **.**

I lay on the threadbare rug in front of the drawing room fire, my head in ' _Stig of the Dump'_. Granny stepped over me to take a porcelain horse from the mantlepiece.

"Mr. Matthews and two of the men are bringing the trees later. They will put them up after lunch."

I didn't answer.

We always had three trees in the house at Christmas, all grown here at Hazlington. A huge one for the Great Hall, one for the entrance hall beside the front door, and one for the drawing room.

"We will have to go up to the attics and get the boxes of decorations down." She waited. "We can go through them, see which are any good … throw out the ones that are past it. Perhaps we can go into Charlbury and buy some new ones?"

She waited again.

"Would you like that? "

"Not really." I said, head down.

"Well, I would." she said firmly. "We'll have to get the presents for the Hazlington children, too."

There was a party for the children of the Hazlington estate workers each Christmas with a present for each of them under the tree in the Great Hall.

"Do you how many there will be this year?"

"No." I said flatly.

"Not as many as there used to be." she sighed. "Perhaps we could go up to to Town to Harrod's or Hamley's and choose them. Would you like that?"

"No." I said, a little sulkily

Granny moved around the room collecting more of the small china figures which were to be put away safely during the holiday.

"When is Daddy coming?"

"Oh, soon."

"Before Christmas Eve?" I asked, relentlessly.

"I expect so."  
"But you don't know." I was quite rude this time..

"He will be here, darling." Her voice was quiet now but I thought it was a bit shaky.

He _did_ come, late in the evening, two days before Christmas Eve.

I had had my bath and had come down in my pyjamas to say 'Goodnight' to Grandpa and Granny when he arrived. I was a little shy with him, I hadn't seen him since the Manor v. the Village cricket match after the harvest, at the end of August. I took the hand he held out and shook it.

"My word, you've grown. How old are you now?"

"Eight. I was eight in October."

I watched him fidgeting around the room, searching for cigarettes and a lighter and pouring himself a whiskey. Granny broke the silence.

" I'm glad you managed to get down today, Rupert. We haven't had a the chance to get the presents for the children's' party. You can go up to Town tomorrow and get them. We could do with some new baubles for the trees too, and garlands."

"Bloody hell, Ma! I only just got here!"

" Take Piers with you. He can help you and it will be a treat for him." Granny's voice sounded the way it did when I had done something wrong and she was disappointed in me.

"Oh, Fuck!"

I studied the carpet, eyes stinging, hoping they had forgotten me.

"Time you were in bed, darling. Say Goodnight to Grandpa and Daddy and give me a kiss. Off you go"

I did as she said and left the room. I turned the corner and sat on the bottom stair where I knew I could hear what was going on in the drawing room.

"Christ Ma..."

"I will not have blaspheming and gutter language in my drawing room and certainly not in front of the child." She did not raise her voice. She did not have to, the icy steel in it made sure of that.

"You can take the child up to Town tomorrow. It will do you good to spend some time together. It will certainly do him some good. I have a list of what you need to get."

" I don't know why we are still throwing this party year after year. Buying all these presents. Bet you are still giving everybody Christmas bonuses. As if we can still afford it."

A clink of glass.

"Like some fucking feudal Lord of the manor."

"Rupert!" Grandpa cut across Daddy. "Your mother has spoken to you about your language. I might remind you that I _am_ the lord of this manor and things will be done here as they have always been done while I am still here to see to it. Even if the family have to go without. It would not hurt you to cut back on your life style. Gambling. And drink!"

A glass crashed down and the door of the drawing room was flung open. I huddled into the shadows on the staircase but Daddy turned to the right, down the corridor and through the green baize door that led to the kitchen.

.* * *

Granny woke me early in the morning.

"Up, darling, don't lag about. Wash, dress, breakfast. You're going up to London with Daddy. You'll have to leave early to find somewhere to park."

"I'm going?"

"Of course you are."

.* * *

We drove up to London in Daddy's Bristol. It was the first time I had been in it since Mummy had left. It smelt of leather, cigarettes and his lime after shave. It was long and low and fast, with big squashy seats. We didn't talk much.

Not then, nor when we were shopping in Hamleys or Harrods.

"Do you think this is O.K?"

"Yeh."

"What about this?"

"O.k."

Nor when we had lunch at the Savoy Grill. I was surprised that lots of the people who worked there knew Daddy.

He didn't eat much, just smoked a lot.

In Oxford Street, we waited at the pedestrian crossing to cross to Regent Street and a friend of Daddy's stopped to have a word.

"This your sprog?" he asked nodding down at me. " Can't run away from him, can you? God, he looks like you."

I looked up at Daddy. Did I look like him? I wondered.

"You going to Kempton Park on Boxing Day?" he said as he was leaving.

" Yeah! Might do." Daddy said. My stomach lurched .

The lights showed the green walking crowd swirled and jostled around us and he took my hand.

"Hold tight or you can get lost."

We waited on the central island to cross the second part of the road.

"Mummy isn't coming home this year either, is she?'

He looked down at me as if he hadn't seen me before, and went on staring until the impatient crowd took us with them across to the far pavement.

He stopped there on the kerb, and crouching down, took me by the shoulders. The crowds swerved around us.

"No. No, Mummy is not coming home. Perhaps I should have told you so before now.. . . I'm afraid Mummy will not be coming home again."

I looked down at his shoes, shining like conkers. I blinked a couple of times in case I was going to cry and then looked back at him. His eyes are green and I could see that one of them has a little brown fleck in it. Like mine. I was puzzled at the way

they sparkled around the edge, like a sort of glitter. He put his arms around me and hugged me till I could hardly breathe. It was only when he rested his cheek against mine and it was wet, that I realised he was crying. He bit his lip.

"It doesn't matter, darling boy. We've got Granny and Grandpa and I've got you and you've got me. You and me ...we don't need her …"

I wasn't sure about that, but I was willing to go along with him.

We finished our shopping and we were queueing to get out of the Multi-story carpark. I thought I'd ask.

"Daddy, are you going to Kempton Park on Boxing Day?"

Kempton Park is a racecourse and the Boxing Day jumps meeting is regular event with the racing gang that Daddy hung out with.

"Hmm mmm? No … I don't think so. Not this year."

He slid the Bristol fast into a gap in the traffic and we were out and moving down slowly Oxford Street looking at the Christmas lights before he took it up again.

"No, not this year, maybe next year. Perhaps you can come with me then, you will be older. Maybe we can get you a sheepskin jacket. Keep you nice and warm. Would you like that?"

I nodded, lost for words. I love horses and riding. To go to a race meeting with my father was an unbelievable joy.

He did not go racing on Boxing day that year and he took me the following year and the year after.

As I grew older, he took me with him everywhere until Grandpa died and there were death duties to be paid and there was even less money.

He insisted that I go to university though it wasn't something I wanted . Redbrick too ...I didn't regret as he did that there wasn't enough money to go to Eton and Oxford like my family had always done.

He taught me to play chess and how to play cards.

We rode together. He taught me to ski and to sail, scuba diving.

Later, he took me nightclubbing. Against my protests, he had taught me the rudiments of ballroom dancing saying "You'll thank me for this, one day." Nightclubs were not really my scene except that they were good places for drinking and picking up girls.

And when there were times when I needed my little foible, he merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged. No other comment.

I never saw or heard anything from my mother and if my father did, he never told me.

We don't need her, he had told me. And we didn't.

We spent every Christmas together until I went to Australia .

He let me go, knowing that he might never see me again.

And me? I didn't need anyone else.

Till I met Kate.

._


End file.
